C Winchester
by A.Diamond
Summary: At 18, Dean's life hadn't been easy, but it was simple: hunt, flirt, get laid, take care of Sammy. Move on. He didn't worry about it much until an encounter in Pontiac, IL brought unexpected repercussions crashing onto his doorstep.
1. Consequences

"Man," Sam groused, flipping through another series of channels on the ancient motel TV, "I can't wait to get out of Illinois. How many televised sermons and 'bible study' networks does one town need, seriously?"

"But Sammy," Dean turned to him on the couch, face a study of serious intent and concern, "are you aware that there are homosexuals in this great world of ours, Sammy? _Homosexuals!_ They want to have sex with all the little boy children like you, then turn all the little girl children into little tranny boy children and have sex with them, too!"

Sam chucked the remote at him. "And then there's the deviants who want to have sex with all the little boy children _and_ girl children."

"Hey, you know me. Slut of pedophile Babylon up in here."

Sam studied his older brother quietly, thinking back to the sermon they'd had to sit through yesterday. Father Michael Novak had been helping their dad with a mess involving a pair of vengeful spirits, a coven of witches, and what appeared to be an actual demon; in the midst, he had invited them all to his Sunday mass. It hadn't exactly gone well. "It really got to you, huh?"

"I mean, come on!" Dean exploded. "The guy learns that the boogeyman is real and faces down his racist undead predecessors and soccer moms making literal deals with the freaking devil, and all he can do is bitch about the evils of the gays."

"People are morons, Dean, you're the one always saying that. You just gotta ignore the crap sometimes, it's the only way to win."

Dean leaned back against the armrest and smirked. "Nah, I've found the best way to get back at them is to have 'em walk in on their son giving you a blowjob."

"Dean! Gross!" Sam's teenage nose wrinkled, then flared in concern. "You didn't really, did you?"

Dean responded with a downright filthy grin, tongue caught between his bared teeth as his eyebrows shot up.

"Who?" Sam demanded. "When?"

"Father Novak's little nerd. Like, two hours ago."

"What? That's why I had to walk back here?"

"Hey, I showed up for you! He just made it out of the school before you did and asked for a ride." The stress Dean put on the last word, the waggle of his eyebrows, and the suggestive nudge of his elbow against Sam's were all redundant, except in that they each seemed to fill Sam with an exponentially greater disgust.

"So you took advantage of him to piss off his bigot father? He's _sixteen_ , Dean!"

"No advantage was taken! Kid's old enough to know what he wants, and he was totally into everything that happened." Dean coughed and amended, "Until his dad walked in and started raising hell about calling the cops."

"And you just left him there?" Sam's voice was almost squeaky in outrage; it would've been hilarious if he hadn't been so pissed. "He could be in serious trouble!"

Dean waved off his worry. "He's the beloved son of the town's tragic widower-turned-priest, he'll say a few 'Hail Mary's and everyone will have forgotten about it before we even leave."

A soft knock at the door stopped whatever Sam had planned to say in response. The two exchanged a wary look, then Dean motioned his brother into the corner behind the beds and grabbed some bills from the nightstand, stuffing them into his back pocket. "Dad probably forgot to pay for tonight or something," he reasoned quietly as he crossed the room.

But when he opened the door a crack, he wasn't met with management or housekeeping or some random hunter looking for his dad. Standing on their doorstep with most of his face a bruise, one eye swollen shut and his strangely bent arm tight against his chest was Father Novak's little nerd.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Shit. Sammy! Get the kit," Dean ordered, pulling the boy inside with some care for his visible injuries, then quickly scanning the parking lot for anyone who might have noticed the battered kid. No one was apparent, and he slammed the door.

It took only a moment of stunned inaction before Sam ran to the bathroom, grabbed the duffle full of their first aid supplies, and reappeared. In that time, Dean steered their patient to his bed and guided him to sit on the edge, finally staunching his chorus of shaky apologies with a gruff, "Not a problem, Castiel, now shut up a minute and let us look at you."

Unimpressed by his brother's bedside manner, Sam elbowed him aside and held up a damp, off-white motel hand towel. "I need to clean you up a bit so we can see what we're dealing with, okay?"

Cas screamed around the leather belt in his mouth when Dean set his broken bones, but remained stoically silent as Sam stitched three Xs of dental floss through a cut on his ribs and five more on his back.

As Sam wrapped Cas's splinted arm, Dean sat on his other side and tilted his face up gently to wipe the blood from it. "I'm sorry I left you there," Dean said between passes with the pink-stained cloth. "I really didn't think he'd do something like this."

"You shouldn't have run off anyway," Sam muttered, glaring up at Dean briefly before returning to his task. "It takes a special kind of asshole to book it after sex when there are angry parents involved, even I know that."

At Cas's startled, maybe even scared eye twitch, Dean shrugged slightly. "It came up, sorry."

Castiel shook his head as much as he could with Dean's hands still on it. "I shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry for involving you. I didn't even think of what could happen if your father was here, if he'd heard what happened. I once again endangered you with my selfishness."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, no." Dean forced Cas to look at him. "First off, you've got no reason to be scared of our dad. At worst he'd be annoyed at me for pissing off his contact, but he'd never hurt anyone in this room over it. None of us, got that?"

When Cas nodded, the fingers holding up his chin slid carefully up, stroking his bruised face on the way to cradling his cheek. Dean continued, "Second, and most important, you haven't done anything wrong or selfish. Not coming here for help, and not what you did before. If anyone was in the wrong there, it was me."

He ignored Sam's self-righteous snort of agreement, but Castiel's flinch needed to be addressed: "I'm not saying I regret it, except the part that got you looking like this. But I shoulda been more careful. _I_ shoulda been less selfish and more worried about your safety. But you're here now, and that's good. We're gonna take care of you. Sammy's stitches are better'n any I ever got from a doctor, and I've broken enough bones to be the freakin' expert on building the strength back up as it heals. We'll make sure you come outta this better than ever."

It wasn't until his little brother's sharp look that Dean realized how permanent that sounded. The case was wrapped, their bags packed. They would leave when John got back from touching base with a few acquaintances.

Cas seemed unaware of the heated eye-debate taking place across him. "My uncle Raphael is a doctor. If I'm able to convince my father to accept me back, he'll see that my injuries are treated."

"Accept you back?" Anger rose above the dread pooled in Sam's gut, but Castiel misunderstood the incredulity in his voice and looked ashamed.

"I know, it's unlikely. He told me he could not support the unholy and not to defile his home or the church again. But if I can convince him I've repented, at least until I'm able to support myself..."

"What?" Sam demanded at the same time Dean nearly shouted, "Fuck that!"

When Cas winced away from them both, Dean said, more softly, "You can't go back there, Cas. You can't possibly think we'd let you."

"I have nowhere else to go." Castiel's good eye shone with barely contained tears, and any fight left between the Winchester boys evaporated.

"Don't be stupid, you're coming with us," Dean told him.

Sam nodded. "We move around a lot, you know that. He can't find you even if he tries. And you can help me with the research and lore."

He stared at them both. "Why should you care about me? My father was the one helping you, I just did a few of the translations he didn't have time for. I barely see you at school, Sam, and Dean..." He blushed deeply enough to show through the discoloration. "I know it didn't mean anything. I'm not that naive."

Dean was about to protest, though he hadn't worked out the substance of it, when John threw open the door, only to stop short at the sight of Castiel.

"Dean, what the hell did you do?"

Dean stood to face him, his body partially sheltering both of the other boys. "Dad, this is Cas. He's got no one lookin' for him, and his Latin's better'n Sammy's."

"Cas, is it?"

"Yes, sir. Castiel, sir."

"You gonna get us into trouble, Castiel? 'Cause I gotta be honest, we get enough of that on our own."

"No, sir." Cas swallowed, clutching his arm close and looking at the floor. "Like Dean said, nobody's going to miss me."

"See, that's what you're telling me, but I have a hard time believing Father Michael isn't gonna want his son back." Castiel flinched. "Yeah, I know who you are. Now I heard the two of you had a disagreement, but that kinda thing blows over, son. Your daddy may be a hardass, but he's a good man-"

"Dad," Dean interrupted, voice sharp. Sam and his father both turned, surprised at the rare show of defiance. "Who do you think did this?"

In an instant, John Winchester's face dropped its gentleness and a hard anger tightened his eyes. "That true?" Cas could only nod, gaze still fixed at his feet. "All right, Dean, Sam, go grab some dinner for all of us. I need to talk to Cas for a bit."

"Dad," Dean protested again, but a look from John silenced him and sent him out the door with his brother.

John settled on the bed across from Cas, waiting in silence until the boy looked up nervously. "You sure you wanna do this, son? It's a hard life you're signing up for. You're in rough shape now, but you're probably gonna see worse with us. The only thing I can promise you is that it'll never come from me or any of mine."

Castiel ducked his chin back to his chest. "I'd like to come with you, sir. I think I can help, like Dean said. In addition to Latin, I can read some Aramaic and Greek, and I learn quickly. But... but I understand if you think I'd get in the way. I'm not good at fighting, like you all, and..."

Breaking off, Castiel carefully rubbed his injured arm above the sling. "And you should know why this happened. You might not want me around."

"You kill anybody?" Startled, Cas jerked a wide eye up to meet John's and shook his head. "Touch a kid? Curse somebody? See, I just can't picture you doing anything bad enough to justify him doing that and you running off with us."

Castiel forced himself not to shy away from the hunter's gaze even as he whispered, voice wavering, "I'm a faggot, sir." As soon as it was out, he flinched as though the very word could hurt him further.

"You're gay," John repeated without inflection; Castiel nodded. "So he beat you, broke your arm, and kicked you out." Another nod.

Dean and Sam pushed through the door, each with two grease-stained paper bags and a nervous expression, in time to hear John say, "Well, son, I'd say it's about time for you to meet your uncle Bobby."


	2. Christening

When John, Dean, Sam, and Castiel reached South Dakota the afternoon after they left Illinois, Bobby Singer took the news in stride. "Hell, ya already look like a Winchester," he told Cas by way of greeting.

"That means welcome to the family," Dean translated, patting Cas heartily on the back. The kid flinched almost imperceptibly as the impact jarred his broken arm, but held in the breath that wanted to hiss out between his teeth. Sam caught the grimace anyway, elbowing Dean off with a scowl.

"Was hoping you could help us out with the paperwork," John told Bobby as his two sons fought a childish and mostly silent war with Castiel standing awkwardly between them. "Birth certificate, social security, maybe even a license."

"For Castiel Winchester? Huh."

Dean gave up on shoving his little brother around to shoot his uncle a skeptical frown. "Huh? I don't like the sound of that. Huh, what?"

"Well, trouble is that Castiel ain't exactly, you know, a real name. A normal person name," he clarified as Dean glared at him, but the look just intensified. "What I mean is, it sticks with a person. It's unique, and that's no good for disappearing.

"Not to mention, and I ain't askin' questions I don't want the answer to, but Martin Creaser called from up near Chicago this morning and he says all the radio stations in the state are broadcasting one of those Amber alerts, calling it a kidnapping. Caught his attention because he heard the kid's dad making a statement, and recognized the name of that priest you all were working with."

As the Winchesters stared at Bobby in disbelief, Cas set his shoulders and lifted his chin. "I should go back."

The shocked faces turned to him, and he explained: "I'm putting you in too much danger. I can go back now and blame some generic Unabomber-type for the kidnapping and the injuries. My father won't do anything with all the media focus, and I'll be careful not to provoke him when it dies down. You won't have to worry about me being in the way or getting you caught."

"Oh, stow the hero complex," Bobby huffed. "Kidnapping is hardly the worst thing folks like us've be accused of, and it ain't gonna scare us into ditching you. You've been claimed as family, you're stuck with us now."

It was Castiel's turn to be flabbergasted. "Why? You just met me! I walked in the door ten minutes ago, how can I be family to you?"

"Look here, Cas. I'm only saying this once, so don't go expecting any mushy nonsense after I'm done. Most of us in the life—hunters—we don't got a lot of family left. Most of us lost them in terrible, violent ways. So when you come into my house, looking worse than a brand new hunter after tangling with a werewolf, and you tell me not only that your old man did it, but you think you should go back to him for our sake? Idjit.

"As far as I'm concerned, from this moment on, that there," he pointed to John, "is your daddy, and those are your brothers. That makes you family, and we take care of our own. Now come give a grumpy old man a hug, 'cause you ain't getting another one unless someone dies."

Speechless, Cas was helpless to disobey the order, though he felt tears threatening to choke him as he accepted the gruff embrace. It was only a moment before Bobby pushed him away, clearing his throat as he adjusted his cap. The others stayed conspicuously silent.

"But the point I'm trying to make is that your name is a problem, no two ways about it. Sorry if you're fond of it, but you can't exactly go around being inconspicuous with a John, Dean, Sam, and... Castiel. I can do it if you want, but I'm telling you, it's asking for trouble. You'd be better off with something more common and forgettable."

A glance at Dean showed he was unwillingly convinced by Bobby's point, but John was the one to speak. "It might be for the best, if you think you can manage it. It doesn't need to be forever, but while you and Sammy are still in school, it'll make our lives easier."

"I can just get my GED. I mean, not that it still wouldn't be better to have a new name, just that way you don't have to worry about paying for books and things. And, I know I might not be very helpful on hunts right now, but I can get a job when you don't need me to do research, and train the rest of the time."

"Oh hell no," Dean scoffed. "You two Poindexters are graduating, me'n Dad got the big hunts for now. We'll get you in fighting shape, but you're doing your damn homework first. Anything due before we skip town, anyway."

Ducking his head in acknowledgement, Cas again found himself humbled by how quickly and completely these relative strangers had embraced him. "A new name, then. Any ideas?"

"Here's an idea: no brainstorming in my goddamn foyer." Bobby over-enunciated the word in a sarcastic drawl, ushering them all into the next room.

Dean and Sam instantly claimed the couch, shoving at each other again until Dean was sprawled over two thirds of it, head propped on an armrest, and Sam was sitting at the other end, one hand constantly fending off his brother's attempts to use him as a footrest. Bobby dropped gracelessly into the chair behind his desk, and John leaned against the doorframe they had just walked through. Cautiously, in deference to both his injuries and his uncertainty, Castiel settled into a chair along the far wall.

When no one initiated a discussion, he said, "So, names. I, uh, I really don't know where to start."

"You're not much older than Sammy, right?" Cas nodded, and John turned to his youngest. "How 'bout it, what were the most common names in your last few schools?"

Sam stared up at the ceiling. "Um... Always a lot of Michaels and Johns, but obviously no. David, Chris, Will—"

"He can't be William Winchester, that's dumb," Dean complained.

"Bill?"

"He'd still have stupid initials."

"You have stupid initials."

"You have a stupid face!"

"Boys," warned Bobby, and they settled back down.

The parade of names continued, to include Steve ("Does he look like a Steve to you?"), Daniel ("Dean and Dan? Pass."), Adam ("No," interrupted John; when pushed for a reason, he just shook his head), and Tim ("Timchester. It'll happen.") without much progress made.

After Dean's dozenth smartass comeback, Sam observed, "You're being awfully quiet, Cas. This is going to be your name, we're just trying to help."

"I know," Castiel flashed him a small, bruised smile. "It's just a very strange thing to consider, renaming myself. I know it's necessary, but nothing feels right the way my name does."

"You keep thinking, I'm gonna grab some food."

"Bring me beer!" Dean yelled at his retreating form. Sam flipped him off. Sighing dramatically, wriggled himself to a more upright position on the sofa and asked, "Anything at all come to mind?"

"I was almost named Emmanuel."

"Ugh, no."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Dude, what _isn't_ wrong with it?" Dean ticked off on his fingers. "One, doesn't really blend in. Two, no good nicknames. Emman? Manuel? Or worse, Manny? Nope. Three, and really most important, guys named Emmanuel never get laid."

He grinned over his dad's admonishment, but Cas's eyes twitched as he fought embarrassment. He studied Dean for any deeper meaning in the joke—it would have been the first time either of them had referenced their intimacy since the brothers had decided Castiel should join them—but there seemed to be nothing more to it than that.

Castiel nevertheless decided that the safest route was to move on. "What about James?"

"Could we call you Jimmy?"

"I... suppose so, yes."

"What made you think of it? Do you want to be James?"

"It was my grandfather's name, though I'm not particularly attached to it. I'm just trying to contribute ideas."

"Casper."

None of them had heard Sam returning, so they were surprised to turn and find him holding a sandwich and looking pleased with himself.

"It's a little more unique, but still a good, all-American name. I've been in school with a couple over the years. You can just go by Cas most of the time, it won't even be much of an adjustment."

"Now this," Dean shook a finger at him, grinning, "this is why we keep you around, Samantha. There's whining and pouting and eating way too much food, you seriously don't need to get taller than me, but every now and then you are a freakin' genius. I mean, mostly. Casper's a total nerd name, but the idea is solid."

"Shut up, jerk, no one asked you. Cas?"

Caught under the weight of everyone's gaze, Castiel ducked his head and smiled shyly. "I like that idea. If you think it's okay," he added, glancing at Bobby and John.

"Works for me," Bobby confirmed.

"Absolutely. There are gonna be enough hard changes for all of us, especially you. If you're good with it, it'll make this one thing a little easier."

"But not Casper," Dean stressed. "Seriously."

"You have a better idea?" demanded Sam.

"Casey?"

"Isn't that Case, not Cas?"

"Casanova?" Dean smirked at Cas, and he shifted uncertainly again. Sam grimaced, and Dean sighed. "Man, I dunno, there aren't a lot of options. We might be stuck with the friendly ghost, sorry dude."

"Say, Dean, didn't you get expelled for beating the hell out of a Cassidy a few years back?" John offered after a long moment of consideration.

"I totally did! Jackass was trying to blackmail this girl in our class into—well, doesn't matter. Still a good name. Whaddya think?"

"Cassidy? I could get used to it, especially if people just call me Cas."

"I think that'll be fine. I mean, no one calls me Samuel, you know?

They sat in contented silence for a few moments, then John pushed away from the wall. "What do you say, son, ready to become Cassidy Winchester?"

Cas nodded.

"I'll get my guy started, but we probably want to wait a week or two for anything that requires pictures." Bobby grunted as he rose from the chair. "Boys, why don't you show Cas up to your room while your old man and I work out the details."

John nodded and instructed, "Sam, Dean, you'll be sharing the second bed until we work something else out. Your brother doesn't need either of you numbskulls kicking him in your sleep while he's healing."

All three boys grinned, though Sam's was marred by the last corner of his sandwich stuffed into his mouth. He jumped up and brushed off his hands and grabbed Cas's good arm, urging him to stand and leading him to the hallway. Rolling his eyes but still smiling, Dean followed.

The room wasn't especially small, but two army-style cots stationed in the middle and shelves pushed against the walls gave it a cramped feel. Sam pulled Cas into the center, but Dean just threw himself down on the nearest bed.

"I dunno, Sammy," he mused with clearly false concern, "I'm thinking this bed ain't big enough for the both of us. And since I'm here and you're not, and I'm older and wiser and prettier, I hope the floor's looking comfortable to you.

"Dean!" Sam protested in what anyone but him might call a whine.

Dean just smirked, and Cas felt compelled to intervene. "You can sleep with me, Sam."

Dean snorted out a laugh, and Cas once again flushed darker than his bruises.

"I didn't mean it like that," he objected weakly.

"Good, because we've already got that weird pseudo-incestuous thing, brand new little brother. No need to make it more complicated."

Cas abruptly paled, freeing his hand from Sam's so he could reach back to support himself on the second bed. He hadn't expected that topic to come up so soon, and not in front of Sam.

The youngest Winchester himself looked furious, hissing, "Dean, seriously?"

Contritely, Dean held up his hands in surrender and offered Cas an apologetic smile. "Bad joke. Sorry. Sam's fine bunking with me, Dad was right about you needing to take care of yourself. It's been a long 24 hours, and I'm pretty sure you didn't get any sleep on the drive here, right? Lie down, relax, we'll wake you for dinner.

"And I promise, Cas, everything's gonna be okay."


End file.
